Fourth Monday in Lent

He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, "Ephphatha," that is, "Be opened." And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. Mark 7:33-35

how easily we stuff
our ears with the cotton
candy of easy platitudes
so we do not have
to hear the cries of
suffering in our world.
when the voices of the
forgotten and vulnerable
become too loud,
we simply let apathy’s wax
build up to protect ourselves
from such annoyances so
we can continue our journey
blithely unaware
until you come along, yanking
us away from our privilege,
opening our ears with
that Sistine-like touch
from a life-giving finger,
so we might hear the beat
of your broken heart.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fourth Sunday in Lent

“For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” Romans 8:24-25

we won’t find hope in those
boasting, loud, narcissistic voices,
but in the whisper of the nurse
in the ear of a patient in the middle of the night
in those quiet pauses as a parent
prays for children heading off to school
in the deep breath we take
as tomorrow waits just over the horizon.
if we could hold hope, well then
it would just become a possession,
an heirloom to store in a box.
so let us look for hope in that
solitary candle in a window placed
as a silent plea for peace,
in the kindness of the neighbor
who helps pick up the branches
after a windstorm stalked the street,
in that tenacious resistance to never
stop loving a world which insists
on hurting others time and again.
we may not be able to see, yet,
what we hope for, but
in the silence
in the waiting
in the patience
hope is breathing
hope is birthing
hope is saving

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Saturday in Lent

“O send out your light and your truth;
     let them lead me;
let them bring me to your holy hill
     and to your dwelling.” Psalm 43:3

oh, how i remember
those days, jumping up
and running out the house,
the screen door banging
behind me, as i joined
other kids, ready to get
in as much fun as we could.
oh, how i remember learning,
sometimes from the foolishness
i told myself was okay, as well as
those falsehoods slipping so easily
out of my mouth, putting
more gray in my Mom’s hair.
oh, how i remember begging
the sun to stay out just
a little longer so i could finish
just one more chapter before
having to slip into the house,

gently closing the screen door.
and now, in the winter of my life,
i feel those childhood playmates,
light and truth,
sticking close by me as i approach
the screen door at the back
of your house, where you wait
to welcome me home.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Friday in Lent

“Then Joseph brought in his father Jacob, and presented him before Pharaoh, and Jacob blessed Pharaoh.” Genesis 47:7

there, before the seat of power,
the old man stands, not with
armies at his back
or sacks of bribes,
but a face weathered by the desert
the dust of the journey
drifting off his sandals.
the powerful always have
places to sleep, their admirers
never hunger nor thirst,
but it is this border-crosser
who lifts arthritic hands to bless,
speaking grace over the one
who spends every night secure.
which should cause us to wonder:
when the exhausted family
crosses into a new land of hope,
when those who carry nothing
in their pockets but dreams,
when the forgotten stand just
at the edge of our privilege—
what blessings might be
whispered in their hoarse voices,
in the weary hands they offer,
in the grace which they never abandon?

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Thursday in Lent

“And he said to them, "How many loaves have you? Go and see." When they had found out, they said, "Five, and two fish." Mark 6:38

so tight-fisted
we will drive to five
different stores in order
to use that $1 off coupon,
stopping along the to refill our car
because the tank is almost empty.
so miserly
we will pull out our devices
so we can calculate
the exact gratuity our server
should get for caring for us
for over an hour (and not
one penny more than
is flashing on our screen).
watching us, you shake
your head, asking,
‘how many is too many,
how much is too much,
how empty do you think
your privilege leaves you
before you notice how scarce
the lives are around you?’

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Wednesday in Lent

“For I know my transgressions,
   and my sin is ever before me.” Psalm 51:3

the time may change, but
my life doesn’t, really—
i try to brush away truth
but it sticks to me like those
ashes of a few weeks ago.
i would like them to trail
behind me, these faults of mine,
but too often, i walk in their shadow
as if they were at the front
of the parade leading me
through this wilderness of Lent.
but you do not go in
your house and shut the door.
like a master gardener, you
kneel in the soil of my regret,
reaching out to touch where
that dust still marks my brow,
whispering,
‘grace can take root anywhere.’
and what was once the sign
of my all too human nature,
becomes the ground where
forgiveness takes root, even
if i fail to notice.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Tuesday in Lent

“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary . . . Mark 6:3a

we could use a good
fix-it person these days—
someone who can come
and rewire our bodies so
we have more energy
to keep walking for justice,
someone with the skills
to reglaze the windows
of our souls with grace
so we can more clearly see
the forgotten of our world,
someone who can mend
the cracks in our hearts
so they can keep beating
out a rhythm of peace for
a world which seems bent
on destroying itself.

we could use a good
fix-it person these days.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman